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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 









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The Temperance Book for the Times. 

OUT OF THE DEPTHS; 

A 

PERSONAL NARRATIVE 

OF 

My Fall Under the Power of Strong Drink 



AND MY 



COMPLETE REFORMATION. 



BY W. T. COX. 

" Out of the Depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord." — Psa. cxxx. I. 



SYCAMORE, ILL. 
BAKER & ARNOLD. 

1876. 



Pointed, Truthful, Heart-stirring. 



Copyright applied for. 



TO THE DEAR WIFE.. 

WHO STOOD 

LOVINGLY BY MY SIDE 

IN THE DARKEST HOUR 

THAT CAN EVER 

COME TO A HUMAN BEING, 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS 

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 

BY THE AUTHOR. 



Printed at the cfiicc of The Feee Heteodist, Sycamore, III. 



INTRODUCTION. 

AH over this land are to be found persons enslaved by 
strong drink, who long for deliverance, and yet fail to 
find any way out of their trouble, Many of these are 
men who once occupied places of trust and emolument. 
They were blessed with talents by the exercise of which 
they hoped to raise themselves to a high place in the es- 
timation of their fellows, and be of much service to the 
world. While they maintained their integrity all was 
well. The world opened up grandly before them and it 
seemed that the bright visions of youth were about to 
be realized in the tangible realities of a noble manhood. 
They secured enough of material wealth to surround 
themselves and those dear to them with the comforts of 
life ; and as they stored their minds with useful knowl- 
edge and engaged in the social pleasures surrounding 
them, it seemed as though life comprised very little but 
what was bright and joyous. But a change came. The 
very " large-heartedness," " whole-souledness " which 
rendered them the charm of their circle hastened their 
downfall, They learned the use of stimulants — learned 
to " tarry long at the wine," to dally with the Siren who 



IV. OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

comes at first with a goblet of nectar twined with flowers 
and accompanied by laughter and song ; but who ap- 
pears at last as a savage Fury, holding to bloated lips a 
chalice full of vipers of hell. It is the old sad, sad 
story, involving wreck of character, family-ruin, want, 
famine, sin — oh, God ! how much of sin ! — and now they 
are cast out of society, and if something is not done for 
them quickly, they have nothing to hope for but the 
most miserable of all deaths — and the drunkard's awful 
hell. 

Oh ! my brethren in suffering ! my heart bleeds while 
I think of the agony and shame and remorse that wrings 
your souls. Too well do I know what it is when the 
links of the " Devil's Chain " sink through the quiver- 
ing flesh to the very bone ; when the heart throbs with 
anguish ; when the nerves start with agony, and the 
brain is on fire, for I have suffered it all. And it is for 
your sake, poor suffering ones that I stifle the pain it 
causes me to write some of the pages which follow. 

This unpretentious little volume is no carefully pre- 
pared treatise on the general subject of Temperance. I 
need not point out the poisonous nature of alcohol, or the 
terrible evils, financial and social, it inflicts upon society 
and upon individuals ; how it despoils manhood of its 
glory ; snatches the bread out of the mouths of the poor 
little children ; plucks hope out of the breast of the 
trembling wife, and fills the souls of its victims with the 
tortures of the lost. I feel no call to chide, and if I did, 
I am aware those I wish to reach know all about these 
things. But I do feel that, by the blessing of God, I 
can point out clearly how they may escape from all their 



INTRODUCTION. V. 



troubles and get back to manhood, to friends, and to 
society — saved men and women I 

Christian men and women ! breathe an earnest prayer 
on these pages and send them into every poor, vile place 
in the land with the news that there is power in Jesus 
Christ to raise up the worst drunkard and make a man 
of him. I know it, for I have traveled over the whole 
ground, and having waited for four years and upwards 
before sending out this public statement, I am satisfied 
that the change wrought in me is permanent. 

In a simple narrative form I present pages from my 
heart-experiences which will, I trust, prove a warning 
to the young, an inducement to the middle aged moder- 
ate drinker to stop and think, but above all to convey to 
the befogged mind of the drunkard the blessed idea that 
there is hope for him yet. 

To show how a young man first becomes entangled in 
the meshes of this destroyer I have deemed it necessary 
to carry my life-story from an early period until the 
hour when I became a free man. Let the reader re- 
member one thing : this is no isolated case. Hundreds 
have been saved by the same means, and, thank God, 
the same personal experience is for all who will accept 
of it. 

Oh ! may the Being who has done so much for me, 
take these words, warm from my heart, and carry them by 
His Spirit to the sufferers for whose restoration I long 
with an entensity I can feel in no other subject. 



CHAPTER I. 



MY EARLY LIFE. 



I was born October 23, 1835, in Cambridge-port, a 
suburb of the city of Boston, of Protestant parents who 
had emigrated shortly before from the North of Ireland. 
My mother I shaQ always remember as a plain, old- 
fashioned Methodist. She brought her religion with 

© © 

her from the county Fermanagh, the cradle of Irish 
Methodism, and she died in possession of the hope it im- 
parts. My father, in his earlier years, was warm-heart- 
ed and mirthful. He was quick to catch and expose 
the ludicrous side of any subject, and was noted for hav- 
ing more than an ordinary share of that power of quick, 
pungent repartee so characteristic of his countrymen. 
Had his mind been thoroughly cultured, I believe he 
would have been noted for brilliant parts. But, in him, 
the religious element ran low, and, alas, all through life, 
he showed much weakness in the presence of the cursed 
strong drink ; a fact that elicited many a sigh from my 
mother's heart, and gave serious trouble to the family. 
It was spasmodic, however, a-id did not hinder him from 
raising a large family in comparative comfort. I allude 
to this matter because I have reason to believe that if I 
fell heir to some of my father's better qualities, I also 
inherited the whole of his besetting weakness. 



MY EARLY LIFE. 



My parents, while I was yet a child, moved from Bos- 
ton to the County of Huron, Upper Canada, wh^re they 
had a number of relatives. In a few years they again 
removed : this time to Nashville, Tenn. Here life be- 
gan to dawn upon me, and with the happy abandon of 
youth I enjoyed to the full the bright, sunny hours. 
Being somewhat of a favorite with my father he deter- 
mined that I should be a scholar, and, being sent to a 
private school, my poor curly head was crammed with a 
mightv mass of knowledge — useful and ornamental ; 
largely the latter, At the age of twelve I think it would 
be hard to find a boy who carried a larger bundle of 
books to school every morning, or who brought away at 
last less definite understanding of many of the subjects 
studied. However, I survived it, and contrived during 
the more thoughtful study of after years to disentangle 
in my mind the results of a hot-house system of educa- 
tion. 

I need not take up space here in recounting what I 
saw of slavery in its palmy days, but I may say that 
even that far back my boyish eyes could plainly perceive 
that hatred of the North which culminated in the Great 
Rebellion. While we lived in Nashville several import- 
ant public events transpired : After a severe contest 
James K. Polk was elected President, the foundation of 
the Court House was laid on Capitol Hill, and the first 
ground was broken in the construction of the present 
Nashville and Chattanooga Ry., all occuring about the 
year 1844, and considered great matters in that day. 

That railways were much wanted, may be inferred 
fro ::: th : fact that when we were forced to leave Tennes- 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



see for Canada in 1844 for the sake of father's health, it 
was necessary to travel from Cincinnati to Toledo by 
canal-boat, nearly a week being consumed on the jour- 
ney. 



CHAPTER II. 

EARLY LIFE ON THE FARM, 

As hinted at the close of the preceding chapter, our 
family turned its steps northward, in the early summer 
of 1844 in search of health for my father. Having en- 
gaged in various pursuits, he now determined to become 
a farmer ; the first step being to purchase a section of 
land in Goderich township. County Huron, Upper Can- 
ada, about eight miles from Goderich, the County-town. 

Our u farm" consisted of five acres of cleared land; 
all the rest being dense hard-wood forest. Although my 
father worked hard he never became very expert either 
as a w r oodsman or a farmer, and nearly all the u clearing" 
fell to the lot of my two elder brothers and myself. 
Most of it fell to my share, as the brothers mentioned 
soon left to w T ork at the printing business which they had 
partially learned at Nashville. I was always willing to 
work, and taking kindly to the axe soon became expert 
in that branch of labor. Our life was, necessarily, some- 
what rough, but what we lacked in refinement was more 
than made up in hearty good will. Our fare was not 
very luxurious, and it was sometimes a little scant ; but 
the fresh air, with hard w r ork and exuberant spirits en- 
abled us to bring to the food prepared by the loving 
hands of one now a saint in Heaven a keenness of appe- 



10 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



tite which is the best of sauces. Taken altogether, those 
early pioneer times were amongst the most pleasant any 
of us have ever spent since. 

There was a sociability ; a free intercourse between 
neighbors in those early days which has disappeared long 
since. From far and near it was the custom to gather 
the people together to erect houses and barns, and "log," 
etc., the fun of the thing being in almost as much re- 
quest as the work done. These gatherings generally 
brought the stout lads and buxom lasses into a dance the 
night following ; and bad whisky was always supplied in 
abundance. At one of these mischievous affairs I first 
learned to drink to excess, although I did nothing like 
regular drinking for years afterwards. 

But I soon discovered that farming was not to be my 
work for life. Being deprived of many of the privileges 
enjoyed by the young men of our day in the way of self- 
culture, I read the few books we had in our library until 
I could find little or nothing in them that I had not 
learned u by heart," and then begged the reading of any 
stray volume I could hear of any neighbor having. I 
certainly scraped together a wonderfully quaint sort of 
literary knowledge ; but, as I look back at it there can 
be no doubt that the very paucity of books from which I 
thought I suffered was, in some respects, a great benefit. 

And then in the warm Sunday mornings in early sum- 
mer as I rambled in the grand old maple woods, saw the 
oriole threading the green foliage with gold, inhaled the 
sweet, subtle scent of the wild violet, and felt my ardent 
young soul entering into harmony with Nature, I dis- 
covered that there was an ideal life to be enjoyed in the 



EARLY LIFE ON THE FARM. 11 

jreat World beyond my present contracted sphere, and 
f I could only break away I might be able to exchange 
mosaic reality for — unknown bliss. I wanted to be 
mongst books ; to make the acquaintance, through their 
rorks, of men who had accomplished much in the world. 
I even thought the day might come when I could do 
something in the world of lecters myself. 

My father, then my only living parent, was nothing loth 
o encourage my aspirations, and it needed but little 
>ersuasion to get his consent to leave the old farm in 
mrsuit of fame and fortune. It caused me a severe pang 
o leave, as age was creeping on him, but we both 
nought it would be for the best. 



CHAPTER III. 
a printer's apprentice. 

Well do I remember the morning that I started out 
with my old father's benediction resting on me for the 
town of Groderich, eight miles distant, where my brother 
George and a partner had a printing-office in which I 
was to learn the trade. How fresh my spirits were ! 
How elastic my step ! What an ambition stirred within 
me to show what a farmer's boy could do, when I had ac- 
quired all the knowledge I intended to obtain. 

I took very naturally to the printer's trade. There 
was a literary atmosphere about the office that delighted 
me, and then, for the first time, I could enter upon a 
more systematic course of self-culture than ever before. 
There was a little library in town, and after I had read 
through it, I began to purchase books for myself. The 
hours which are spent by most of the apprentices of the 
present day in worse than idleness were by me applied 
to hard study, and all my pocket-money nearly, went 
for books. 

As an educational privilege I enjoyed at this time the 
excellent training for a young man of taking part in a 
debating club, most of the members of which were more 
advanced in scholarship than myself. I have to smile, 
sometimes, when I remember the perfect confidence with 



a printer's apprentice. 13 

which the young man tackled any and every subject that 
came up for discussion. 

At this time, and for years afterwards I was a total 
abstainer from all stimulants. Ah me ! those early days 
had many bright spots in them. Student though I was, 
I soon learned to love Nature passionately, and my own 
heart seemed to beat responsive to her changeful moods. 
Often in the calm, beautiful mornings — and where are 
they more lovely — I have waded the river, and climbing 
up the opposite hill through a thicket of shrubbery laden 
with scented dew, st» A od at last on the bare summit, in 
presence of a scene calculated to enrapture any ardent 
young soul. Westward was the broad lake Huron, a 
watery mirror as far as the eye could reach — streaked 
with immense belts of green and blue and grey and only 
rippled with the long line of sparkles in the wake of a 
flying wild-duck ; away up east and southeast stretched 
the beautiful Maitland between banks lovely as were 
ever sung by poet, and as I gazed, trying to take in the 
beautiful picture, behold ! Aurora, goddess of the morn- 
ing, attended by her bright train, ushered in the new- 
born day, as the first rays of the rising sun shed a sud- 
den glory over the scene. 

Those were pleasant days, taken altogether ; and if 
they were spent without any verv definite purpose, I can, 
looking back at them, see nothing calculated to create 
feelings of remorse. There was certainly nothing bois- 
terously wicked in my life as an apprentice. 



CHAPTER IV. 

CONVERSION AND MARRIAGE. 

All through my young life were convictions of the 
necessity of a change of heart, at times quite pungent. 
I knew quite well that I was a sinner, and yet I put off 
the period of becoming reconciled with God through the 
merits of Christ's atonement until my twentieth year. 
The night the resolve was made is vividly impressed on 
my memory. It was at a protracted meeting which was 
held in the old frame Wesleyan Methodist Church on 
North street.* As I entered, Rev. Geo. Cochrane, now 
Missionary to Japan, was preaching, and ere I took my 
seat a thrill shot through me — a feeling of indescribable 
awe. God was there, and I felt at once that I must give 
my heart to him. Going to the altar with the seekers, 
I earnestly sought the pardon of my sins. The black- 
ness of despair seemed to settle down upon me, and for 
three days and nights I lived in an agony of prayer. 
But, at last, in my own little bed-room, while reading a 
few well-directed words by a writer who knew exactly 
what to say to one in rny condition, the light dawned sud- 
denly upon my mind, and almost ere I was aware of it I 

*Thp Wesleyan Methodist Church of Canada is meant. It w^s simi- 
lar to the British Wesleyan body, and quite distinct from what it known 
as the Wesleyan Methodist Connection of the United States. 



CONVERSION AND MARRIAGE. IS 

was a believer :n Christ as my personal Saviour. Blessed- 
hour ! I never, from that time to this, doubted for a 
moment that I was converted then and there. 

Being naturally of a warm, impulsive nature, I was; 
full of zeal in the cause of the Master, for whose glory I 
determined to devote my life. 

A young men's prayer-meeting was established m 
connection with the church, and we had glorious times. 
Several who are now standing steadfast as Christians 
date their spiritual birth from this period. 

Through the exercise of whatever talents I was pos- 
sessed of I was soon advanced to the position of class- 
leader, and afterwards to that of local preacher and trus- 
tee. For a number of years I filled these trusts with all 
the ability and energy I possessed. They were truly 
happy times, and as I look back upon them it is like 
gazing at a patch of brilliant sunshine through a murky,, 
tangled, shadowy belt of forest. 

Let the reader remember this brief statement of the 
religious joys that blessed my young manhood while 
perusing the dark record that follows. 

About a vear after mv conversion, and when I was 21 
years of age I married one who was then and is now T a 
sincere Christian woman. We loved each other, and al- 
though our start in life was humble, we felt confident 
that strong hands and willing hearts would, with the 
blessing of God, enable us to establish a thoroughly 
Christian household, and secure a reasonable share of the 
world's prosperity. We anticipated nothing but a con- 
tinuance of the happy contentedness that animated our 
hearts. 

2 



16 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



And we would have prospered had it not been for the 
one Accursed Thing that came to blight our young hopes 
^.nd sweep away everything that was dear to us with re- 
morseless cruelty. Alas ! alas ! how many thousands 
of bright homes have been destroyed by the same mon- 
ster of iniquity. Many who read these lines will, may 
be, shed a tear as they look back in their own lives to 
just such an experience as ours has been, May all such 
come out of their awful trouble as we have done ! 



CHAPTER V. 



MY FIRST WRONG STEP. 



After I had been working for a number of years in my 
brother's office, it changed hands, and the old editor — 
Thomas McQueen, a great genius in his way — came 
back to it. One day he sent in a book notice of the 
Manual of Ph mography, recommending young printers 
to learn the art. I determined at once to acquire what 
promised to be such a great help to me, and by constant 
study and practice became a somewhat efficient short- 
hand reporter. 

Mr. McQueen took a liking to the printer boy, and 
fanned the flame of ambition in my breast to become a 
self-made journalist. How much, sometimes, a single 
word can do towards making or marring our fortunes. 

One evening Mr. McQ. asked me into his " sanctum*" 
and told me that as he believed the County seat question 
had been settled in our sister County of Bruce, I ought 
to go at once and start a paper in the new County-town. I 
had submitted several papers for his criticism, besides 
publishing several articles in the Signal, and he knew 
just what I could do. His decision that I was well able 
to write my own editorial articles, pleased me not a 
little. 

I demurred, on account of youth and inexperience ; 



18 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

but he would take no denial — not only urging me to em- 
bark in the enterprise, but furnishing the necessary 
means until I could repay it, without interest. 

Accordingly, all arrangements being made, my wife 
and I, in the winter of 1860-61 moved to Walkerton, 
the newly-fledged County-town. The " Town " consis- 
ted of about fifty houses built in a narrow valley between 
two high hills, a river-course having decided such a nar- 
row position for the future metropolis. It was, as I 
gazed down on it in disgust from one of the hills, just 
about as unlikely a place to acquire literary eminence in 
as one could well imagine — the only redeeming feature 
being a fine agricultural country around the village. 

However, undaunted, I went to work and soon had 
the unbounded satisfaction of seeing my first editorial in 
my own paper ; and I had a pretty good opinion of it 
too, but after reading it several times I noticed that it 
did not by any means appear so bright and sparkling. 

I can never forget that village. It had its various 
cliques, and society-grades, and "sets" all as clearly- 
lefined as in any city. In winter there was some show 
>f business, but in the long summer months the " town " 
tvent into a sort of drowsy sleep. Lack of business 
permitted the shopkeepers and their assistants to sit on 
goods boxes on the sidewalk and talk politics with the 
citizens, or to drink liquor. The liquor traffic, I noticed, 
flourished at all times. 

I soon became disgusted with a place where there 
were, during certain seasons, seven Sundays a week ; 
with the state of Society, and with my surroundings 
generally ; and very soon felt that it w T as going to be a 



MY FIRST WRONG STEP. 19 

hard task to wait for the prosperity which was so far 
away. 

And then I made mv first great mistake in life : Our 
Methodist preacher, Rev. J. Hutchinson, came to me 
shortly after we had settled and asked me to fill a coun- 
try Sabbath appointment for him. I promised him I 
would try. But, when the great cross came I failed. 
My supporters were nearly all rigid Presbyterians. 
How dare I acknowledge before them that I was a Meth- 
odist local-preacher by discharging this duty ? And 
then too, I argued, why should I preach ? If it had 
been my calling, would not the Canadian Conference 
have accepted me when I offered myself, instead of re- 
jecting me on the plea that I was a married man ? How 
easUy we can justify ourselves in wrongdoing. I made 
it clear to my own mind that the duty laid upon me 
was too severe, and so I refused to fill the little appoint- 
ment. 

Ah me ! that was an evil decision. God wanted me 
to stand up amongst so much of wickedness and vice as 
there was in that place, and be a true witness for Jesus, 
and I defiantly refused. Then the Lord withdrew his 
Spirit, and how I have suffered in consequence of that 
one rebellious act only God and my own soul can know. 
The act would appear to be a trivial one, almost, and yet 
it involved for me a principle of vital importance. It 
was a point where two roads diverged. I took the 
wrong road. 

Had I stood up nobly for Christ, then, as I ought to 
have done — as the Spirit of God urged me — all would 
have been well, and instead of suffering the untold agony 



20 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

of after years, no doubt my life would have been devoted 
to the cause of God and humanity. 

How many wrecked human lives can be plainly traced 
back to a similar starting point. I have no doubt these 
lines will be read by hundreds who will pause a moment 
to declare, if only to their own hearts : " Yes ! if I had 
not failed when that clearly-defined duty came up— or, 
if I had not made that one false step, how different it 
would all have been/' Oh! the Might Have Been ; how 
it comes sighing in minor cadences through the memory 
of those who have sinned and suffered, and who have, by 
that very suffering, acquired the awful power of extract- 
ing the unutterable melancholy there is in Nature, how- 
ever great the degree of happiness that may be ultimate- 
ly restored to them ! 

Those who understand these matters, will not be sur- 
prised in the least when I inform them that soon after 
this event I felt that something had gone out of my life. 
There was an abiding sense of incompleteness ; of loss. 
And well there might be, for a sweet link had disap- 
peared from the chain of existence ; not to be found and 
fully restored for sixteen long years freighted with sor- 
row and sin. 

I tried to fill up the void with literature, but philoso- 
phy failed to feed the hungry soul. Lighter literature 
seemed but a bitter mockery ; the veriest dust and ashes 
in the mouth. Then, in order to assist in whiling away 
the weary hours of inactivity, 1 learned to use Tobacco. 
I took to the pipe easily, and soon came to love it very 
dearly. 

This was my first step downward, after passing the 



MY FIRST WRONG STEP. 21 

turning-point. It is but one step from tobacco to liquor. 
Smoking and drinking are inseparable companions, the 
world over. I venture to assert boldly that nothing can 
so naturally quench the thirst caused by smoking as 
beer. When a young man learns to smoke, look out for 
the saloon ; it is not very far distant. I must have com- 
menced using tobacco in a fit of desperation, for I dis- 
liked the habit : and I may say that for over fifteen years I 
was disgusted with myself for having acquired it. I 
never could read a passage in the Bible with tobacco in 
my mouth, and, especially of late years, I felt the use of 
the poisonous weed to be a standing personal defilement. 
How I got finally rid of it will be related farther on. 

Tobacco using, we are told, benumbs the moral sense. 
I know it did in my case. Up to this time I had been 
strictly teetotal on the temperance question : but I soon 
began to think it was useless to be so strict. Other pro- 
fessed Christians could use liquor moderately, why could 
not I ? The Siren came and placed the wine cup in my 
hand, and I drank, not deeply at first, but enough to 
start me adrift in the direction of a drunkard's awful 
hell. If I could persuade myself that no harm would 
come of it ; my wife, with Love's swift instinct, felt al- 
ready the coming of the awful cloud that was to over- 
shadow our young lives. If I apprehended any danger 
myse 1 ^ I succeeded in laughing away my heart-felt con- 
victions. 



CHAPTER VI. 

MY EDITORIAL CAREER. 

Our stay in Walkerton only lasted about two years. 
TMy friend McQueen, dying, left the Signal without an 
editor, and I was induced to purchase it and assume the 
position I so much desired as its conductor. As all our 
old friends lived in and near Goderich, we were most 
comfortably situated, in regard to our social relations. 
In other respects, too, we prospered for a time. Busi- 
ness went well, the public smiled upon my literary ef- 
forts, and we looked forward to a happy and useful life. 
Popular applause is a sweet thing to an ardent, aspiring 
young man ; but it is exceedingly dangerous. To be 
told that there is hardly any position that he may not 
attain to, may have some foundation in truth ; and yet, 
if it does nothing worse, it creates an undue excite- 
ment of faculties of the mind which require no stimu- 
lus. 

I was ambitious to secure a front place, if possible, in 
the race for fame. Even that, it seems to me was quite 
laudable, had I walked in the way my God desired I 
should ; but I had made the first misstep and there was 
less difficulty about taking the second. 

Being naturally light-hearted and generous, I soon 
formed intimate friendships with the witty and loose- 



MY EDITORIAL CAREER. 23 

living "men about town," who were always ready to 
lau^h at my humorous sallies, and to drink at my ex- 
pense. I am sorry to say that in the course of a few 
years I had learned to love the society to be found in 
the billiard-hall and the tavern, better than that of my 
old church friends, and by degrees, although keeping up 
a formal connection with the Church, I became thor- 
oughly alienated in heart. 

My connection with Canadian politics did not mend 
matters much. Somehow, from the first, there seemed 
to be one election after another in rapid succession, each, 
apparently, more exciting than the last ; and at the bot- 
tom of the turmoil, and ribaldry, and corruption, was 
always sure to be found an unlimited supply of strong 
drink. I saw many of the noblest young men of the 
country sink through this cause, and T never can think of 
this portion of my experience without a shudder. That 
I should escape the foul contagion, situated as I was 
would have been impossible. Link after link The 
Devil's Chain was forged and wound round me, dragging 
me down to the infamy of the drunkard's career. 

A country editor who is at all popular, and who likes 
liquor-drinking and its associations, is in a very danger- 
ous place. He is, it may be, generously disposed, and 
as he is continually conferring little favors to individuals 
through his paper for which no money equivalent is of- 
fered or expected, there is, every day of his life almost, 
a number of invitations to imbibe with those thus bene- 
fited, and if the temptation is given way to the tendency 
is to demoralization ; it is safe to say that the cause of 
such a man is downward. This has undoubtedly been 



24 OUT OP THE DEPTHS. 

the bane of many of the most talented young men of the 
country. Another thing that enters largely into the 
life of the editor of a country paper grows out of the fact 
that, during a considerable portion of the year, all the 
mental excitement he has is when his sheet is being pre- 
pared for the press. As soon as his week's work is ac- 
complished, he is apt to suffer a period of depression 
which nothing in his surroundings is calculated to dispel 
—except the ever-ready whiskey or brandy bottle. That 
is the rock upon which many a fair young life has been 
wrecked. It would seem that such a simple course could 
hardly produce such awful effects, and yet I have no 
doubt numbers who read this will be able to attribute 
their downfall to just such an influence. Ah, me ! I learn- 
ed the fatal secret that there is a power in strong drink, 
at first, to drive off " dull care," to unloose the fancy to 
stimulate every flagging power of the being. Why suf- 
fer from depression of spirits when immunity could be 
purchased so cheaply ? Why write with fingers of lead, 
when I could easily secure the means of sending the 
warm blood bounding with a quickened pulsation through 
every vein — opening up to the enraptured vision all 
that heated imagination could paint or heart desire. 

I enjoyed the dreamy elysium of such a life in the 
society of those who were of my own way of thinking for 
several years. Poor fellows ! some of them lie in the 
Goderich Cemetery, murdered by the accursed Destroyer 
while yet in the hey-day of their early manhood, while 
others are wanderers far from the scenes of our wicked 
revelry. I look back upon this period of my life with 



MY EDITORIAL CAREER. Z9 

peculiar horror. I was deliberately poisoning my whole 
being — body and soul — with alcohol. 

During particularly dull days and evenings it was the 
practice of our party to meet in some saloon or grocery 
and there while away the hours in playing various games 
for beer, and engaging in such conversation as we con- 
sidered witty and amusing. Saturday evening was a 
favorite time for such gatherings, as the bars being vir- 
tually closed on Saturday evening, and the Sabbath ren- 
dered it not quite so easy to procure stimulant ; hence 
it was deemed advisable to drink as much as possible the 
evening before. Thus the eve of the holy Sabbath was 
profaned by orgies which disinclined any who indulged 
in them from worship next day. 

All this sort of life kept up a constant drain upon my 
purse, and gradually, but very surely, the means which 
should have been held for business or gone for home 
comforts and necessaries, w r ere expended to prove to a 
number of misguided associates that I was a man of no- 
ble feelings and generous instincts. It is true I often 
suffered a pang when I saw my family becoming pinched 
for necessary articles, while the liquor-dealer could have 
the very best of all there was to be had ; but such is the 
terrible glamor of intemperance, that the outraged and 
enfeebled moral sense becomes, at last, unable to see the 
full enormity of the crime committed. I know that was 
the case with myself, and furthermore, I soon came to 
lose all power to resist the tide that was bearing me so 
surely to destruction. 

All this time I was sinning and repenting ; but grad- 
ually losing my grasp on every religious or moral aid to 



26 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

a better life. My friends saw with horror the awful 
fate that seemed to lie before me, and, as far as they 
dared interfere, endeavored to save me. I fairly 
loathed myself, and yet, somehow, it seemed impossible 
to stop. 

And those, too, vho had been my loving companions 
in the Church ; how their hearts yearned over the poor 
sinful wanderer ! How earnestly they prayed that the 
Lord would bring me back to Christ ! I could not rea- 
lize then what they suffered on my account, but I can 
now, thank God. 



CHAPTER VII. 



MY DOWNFALL. 



There came a time at last when prudence, and decency, 
and Christian propriety were all thrust rudely aside and 
I appeared upon the street in broad day light in a state 
of intoxication ; not once or twice, merely, but several 
times. Even then, the devil persuaded me, that it was 
merely an outbreak of the eccentricity which sometimes 
accompanies true talent. But one evening, when my 
eldest daughter, a sweet little girl, came home bathed in 
tears and declared amidst heart-breaking sobs that she 
could go no more to school, because the girls pointed at 
her, and refused to associate with her because she was a 
drunkard 's child, I suddenly awoke to a full sense of 
the fact that I was a drunkard ! ! merciful God ! 
what a horror there was in the very name ! And to feel 
in my soul that I deserved it — that if I was to be cast 
out of the pale of respectable society it was but right. 
In the whole course of my life I do not think I have 
suffered such agony as was condensed into that hour. 

I felt then that I had parted with the last semblance 
of true Christianity, and that it was my imperative duty 
to withdraw from the Church, rather than to wait to be 
turned out by legal action. Next morning, therefore, I 
wrote out a request that my name should be stricken 



28 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



from the records of the Church of my mother. I remem- 
ber the scene well : the appearance of the paper, the 
pen, the surroundings of the little editorial room where 
I had formerly spent so many happy hours ; and as 
I signed my name to the paper, after assigning the 
true reason for taking such a step, I felt that I had 
subscribed my own death warrant — of both body and 
soul. I sent the note to our pastor, Rev. W. H. Poole, 
and the next Sabbath being the occasion of a quarterly 
meeting, it was read before the whole membership. Al- 
though not present, I felt the degredation bitterly — all 
the more because I knew that it was well deserved. I 
afterwards learned that there was not a dry eye in the 
church when the letter was read ; but that fact had no 
power to move me out of the course I intended to pursue. 

Now I was free from all restraint, and could do just 
as I pleased. I could get drunk every day if I chose. 
It was the grim freedom that comes from desperation ; 
yet, such as it was I enjoyed it to the uttermost. Reck- 
lessness and Ruin are twins. I verv soon discovered 
that fact, for my descent from this point was one of 
fearful rapidity. I need not enter into details, beyond 
stating that for months, excepting an occasional spasm 
of repentance, I never drew a really sober breath. Ine- 
briety became, with me, a disease* 

Intemperance and poverty go hand in hand. Few 
young men had better opportunities for building up a 
fortune than I, and yet there I was so fully under the 
control of appetite that I saw my business slipping away 
from me without being able, through moral and physical 
weakness to avert the impending destruction. 



MY DOWNFALL. 29 



I tried to recover myseif. Yes, I endeavored by ever^ 
weakening spasms of effort to recover a hold of my busi- 
ness. And oh ! how hard I tried to escape from the 
bondage of drink. I went to the doctor and the clergy- 
man ; but they both failed me, for neither of them knew 
just how I could be saved. I wearied out the patience 
of my friends with promises which were broken almost 
as soon as made. I have wept like a child in my utter 
helplessness, and then determined that I would reform. 
A week or two of sobriety, and then a little leak of 
cider, ginger-wine, etc., would bring back the full tide 
of drunkenness. On one occasion I went so far in my 
agony as to write a pledge on the fly-leaf of our family- 
Bible, and sign it, with the avowed determination of 
never touching liquor while it remained there. Did I 
keep to my resolution ? Alas, before one week had 
passed, I knew I should have to recommence my old 
career, and in order to satisfy my poor abused, dying 
conscience, in some degree, / tore the leaf out of the 
book ! My dear reader, when you hear the assertion 
that there is nothing in this world that can make a man 
do such mean things as alcohol urges him to do, believe 
it — for it is true ! 

Alcohol acts upon its victims in various ways. Some 
are rendered savage by it ; some foolish, simply ; others 
stupid. With me there was at first an intense degree 
of mental excitement, followed, at a later stage — espe- 
cially if I went from a heated room to the open air — by 
an irresistible tendency to sleep ; no matter where I 
might be at the time. When it is remembered that I 
became intoxicated at every favorable opportunity, it 



30 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



will not be wondered at that I had some very narrow 
escapes from instant death. Several times, late on 
stormy win er nights, I should have died, undoubtedly, 
in th- snow where I had fallen, had it not been for the 
frantic efforts of my faithful Newfoundland dog, who, by 
some means, contrived to rouse me to action ere the last 
deep sleep had overtaken me. Poor Victor, you were 
better; to me than many of my old comrades ! On another 
occasion I drove a horse and buggy — or, rather, the 
horse picked his own way — for some ten or twelve miles 
on a dark night, down a steep hill, across a river-bridge, 
up another hill and several miles beyond. When my 
senses came back in a dazed sort of way, I had great 
difficulty in finding out where I was, or the direction 
home. It was of the great mercy of God that, in some 
way, I was not cut down in the midst of :ny wicked- 
ness. I sometimes think God hates, if possible, to 
allow a drunkard to die in his sins, above all other men, 
without giving them repeated opportunities for repent- 
ance, knowing that it drags after it such a hideous trail 
of sin and misery and crime. 

One after another I tried the various temperance 
organizations, only to find that each proved a failure. 
What was there in a mere pledge that could meet an 
appetite for stimulants such as mine ? I broke through 
pledges as though they had been but spiders' webs ; and 
my little stock of resistance became less and less with 
each failure. I know a sense of honor should have 
carried me through ; but a drunkard has no honor, and 
hence, is beyond the reach of ordinary influences. 

While money lasted, I had quite a number of friends; 



MY DOWNFALL. 31 



for, desiring to be accounted a real good-fellow, I was 
always liberal in treating my companions. But when, 
through my business dropping off, money was not by 
any means so plentiful, I realized at once a great change 
in my quondam friends. They at once put on an air 
of superior virtue, and with a u Poor Cox, how I pity 
him !" they gave me the cold shoulder. And many of 
my dear friends, the hotel and saloon keepers did not 
seem to relish my frequent visits. Although I had in- 
vested with them my glorious young ambition, my 
tneans — my very soul's salvation— they could coldly 
] int that " it would be better for me to be doing some* 
i ig for my suffering family." Thank God, I do not 
need now to grind my teeth in helpless agony as I think 
of the indignities then heaped upon me. But when I 
think that so many of my dear brethren in suffering 

sitting in just such a wretched state, I can hardly 

i - till I make an effort to rescue them from a bondage 

uel to endure, and yet so easy to escape from when 

way is made plain. 
I have hinted that my business began to go down^ 
course, where both the ability and the inclination to at- 
t ro such matters was absent, want of confidence on 
the part of my creditors soon brought about the inevita- 
I collapse. ( h\e day I went home and found the gaunt 
^ i of Famine staring in at the door. There wasnoth- 

for m\ v- and children to eat. ! how sincerely 
our h< v culy Father to bless the friend who, while 
i hj \ ■■ e false, and cruel, stepped between my 
: nd absolute starvation, 



CHAPTER VIII. 

LIFE IN CHICAGO. 

That my career in Goderich had terminated was but 
too evident. No matter how brilliant my opportunities 
were, or how dear the old place and its sweet associa- 
tions was to my heart, the time had come when I must 
bid it adieu, and go — I hardly cared where. I believe 
in my soul there is a special Providence, which, if we 
follow its leading, directs our steps in the only safe 
direction. I am sure it was so in my case. It would 
seem that, of all places in the wide world in which to 
seek for reformation from the habit of intemperance, a 
great city would be the very worst ; and yet, if the reader 
will carefully peruse what follows, the wonder-working 
power of God will, I trust, be made manifest. 

I hardly know how it got into my beclouded brain 
that I should go to Chicago, but, somehow, the impres- 
sion was there as clearly as was the idea that I must 
leave my old home. In the hope that any change might 
be for the better, I made what preparations I could, bor- 
rowed a few dollars to pay my passage by water, and 
-bidding adieu to my stricken household, I started out to 
seek my fortune in the West. My wife had a faint hope 
that I might reform, and my dear pastor of better times, 
-Rev. W. H. Poole, declared that too many earnest pray- 



LIKE IN CHICAGO. 33 



ers had been offered to God on my behalf to permit of 
my being lost. It was, under the circumstances, a won- 
derful degree of faith. Beyond these two I do not be- 
lieve another soul expected to see me alive again. 

1 went away with a hard, crushing bitterness at my 
heart. As the shores of home receded from view, and 
the truth Hashed upon me with awful force that hence- 
forth I should be a wanderer and an alien, I cursed those 
who had hastened to take advantage of my weakness 
with the terrible maledictions which spring so easily to 
the lips of a man in my deplorable condition. 

I landed in the city of Chicago on the 26th day of 
July, 1871, with the sum of $4.60 in my pocket. Fresh 
from a quiet country town, where the current of ordi- 
nary life flows along so sluggishly, no wonder I was some- 
what stunned by the rush and bustle and confusion of 
the great metropolis of the West. Sick in body ; brok- 
en in spirit; low in purse; alone in a crowd. Put all 
these things together, and you have an aggregate of 
wretchedness such as I experienced in Chicago. What 
was I to do ? I was too long out of practice to do much 
at the mechanical pare of my business, while my habits 
rendered anything better out of the question. I very 
soon found that I could do no better than drift along in 
a nomadic sort of way, earning what little I could, and 
learning from others as miserable as myself those poor 
makeshifts that enter so largely into that kind of life. 

In one way or another I dragged through the summer, 
drinking incessantly and never having any sum worth 
sending home. Bad as I was, I suffered extremely when 
thoughts of wife and children arose in my mind. When 



34 OUT OK THE DEPTHS. 

the news came to me that another son had been born 
into our family, I felt very unequal to any further res- 
ponsibility, judging from the past. It seemed to widen 
the breach between me and all hope of ever regaining a 
position where I could do anything for those whom I 
was called upon by every tie to cherish and prrtect. 

Then came the great Chicago fire, in October, 1871. 
That great calamity has been described so often and so 
w^ell, that I need not stop here to enter into particulars 
concerning it. One thing is certain : it was the sub- 
limest sight a human being can ever witness. I carried 
my trunk through the greater portion of the burning 
" North Side," but had to abandon it at last — glad to 
escape with life. 

Still clinging to the city after the fire I settled down 
a little better to work for a while, but I found that I 
was deficient in endurance on account of the strain that 
had been put upon my vital powers, and to heighten my 
wretchedness, during the fall and early winter my limbs 
became so swollen as to render me almost helpless. 
When I saw at last that I could not work steadily I felt 
like giving up in despair. Knowing where temporary 
relief could be had, I flew to the bottle, and there found 
relief from my misery by drowning it in copious 
draughts of villainous whiskv. 

Such a life could have but one ending. Canadian 
whisky was destructive ; but how much more so the vile 
stuff sold in low-grade Chicago saloons ! No living man 
could stand it. I kept on at it, however, until the morn- 
ing of January 22, 1872, when my employer very prop- 



LIFE IN CHICAGO. 35 



erly discharge! me on account of inattention to business 
through drink. 

I wended my way to a saloon on West Madison street, 
and contrived to spend or lose every cent I had about 
me, before nine o'clock in the evening. 



CHAPTER IX. 

" OUT OF THE DEPTHS." 

About 11 o'clock of that night of January 22, 1872, it 
would be difficult to find in all the cold, cruel city of 
Chicago a more pitiful object than I was. The night 
was a bitterly cold one, and as the wind atruck me it 
seemed to pierce to the very marrow. I had on no un- 
derclothing. My covering consisted of an old summer 
suit utterly unfit for such a season, and my feet were 
barely covered by a pair of worn old shoes. 

But worse still my heart was cold. Last of all Hope 
had fled, and there I was, in the heart of a great city 
alone, moneyless, homeless, friendless. Giant Despair 
seized me and I seemed almost ready to give up the un- 
equal strife. I asked the pale, cold marble churchea if 
no man cared for my soul ; I looked up at the grand 
business palaces and wondered that I could not have 
enough to procure food and warmth. And then as I 
w T alked the deserted streets at midnight there went up 
from the heart of the poor wanderer " out of the 
depths " a cry for help that God must have heard. 
Not knowing anything better to do, I explained my cir- 
cumstances to a policeman, and asked him if there was 
any place in the city where men so situated could get a 
night's lodging. He gave me a ticket for admittance 



;; OUT .OF THE DEPTHS,'' 37 

during the remainder of that night at a so-called "Police* 
Lodging-house,'' on Union street Presenting my ticket- 
I was admitted to a Chamber of Horrors, such as I had 
never before heard or read of. Had it not been a matter 
of life or death with me. I should certainly have turned 
back into the darkness and cold, but I thought I could 
stand it until morning and so determined to make the 
attempt. The room was the full length of the building, 
there was no stove in it. and the miserable ones who tar- 
ried there for the night were expected to sleep on a bare 
shelf-like platform without a particle of covering, be- 
yond their ragged clothing. Th°re they lay. thick as 
herrings in a row. rendering the air poisonous with their 
foul breath, and vocal with blasphemy. It seemed to 
me as though Nemesis had. with a. giant hand, raked 
everv allev and slum of the city and thrown the contents 
here. 

What an awful night it was ! I shall never lose a 
single detail of its unutterable horror while memory 
holds true to its office. As Flay there shivering I 
thought : And has it come to this at last. Has the man 
who was to have done something in the world descended 
so low that he must herd with the vilest off-scourings of 
the earth ? How soon can one die if this must be the 
mode of living ? 

At last the 23d of January dawned — a day to be held 
in remembrance while life lasts, on account of the infi- 
nite mercy of God. At the first appearance of day- 
light we were driven forth by the brutal keeper of the 
shameful den, and I w T as glad to breathe once more the 
pure air, if it was cold. 



38 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



That was a bitter, freezing morning. Tired, sick, 
wretched, I stepped out beneath the paling stars. The 
greatest want I experienced — more than food, or warmth, 
or rest, much as I needed these — was drink ; something 
to satisfy the craving for stimulants. Wandering down 
to Canal street, near Madison, to my great joy I found 
that a saloon kept by a friend of mine was open ; and he 
had his place well warmed up. What a heaven it seem- 
ed ! I thought I could never absorb enough of the life- 
giving heat. How is it that in the great emergencies of 
our lives, the mind has such a trick of taking note of the 
minutest details of our sutroundings if I can recall the 
whole scene as vividly as though nothing else had ever 
been imprinted on my memory : The hot stove, the peo- 
ple in the room, the cheap pictures on the walk the va- 
rious little objects to be met in such places — all passes in 
review. I took an old letter or two out of my pocket 
and tried to read them in an off-hand way, so that the 
man might not take me for a loafer altogether. 

I sat there for about an hour; and in that hour I did 
all the serious thinking my poor racked brain was capa- 
ble of. I knew right well that it had at last come to be 
a matter of life or death with me. If I continued in my 
drinking course, there was nothing for me, in less than 
a month, but the city hospital and the pauper's grave. 
If I stopped short — well, I might at least die sober. It 
was useless for me to seek w 7 ork, for I was too feeble to 
do anything in the shape of labor, and there seemed 
only one chance for me. 

At last, with my mind fully made up, I stepped up to 
the counter and telling the proprietor of the saloon I had 



"out of the depths." 89 

no money, asked him if he would give me a drink of 
liquor to quench my raging thirst. He handed me the 
whisky-bottle and I poured out at least three-fouths of a 
glassful of the fiery liquid and drank it down. And 
then, as I returned the empty glass to the counter, I 
said, By the help of Almighty Grod, that is the la*t drop 
of liquor of any kind that will ever pass my lips ! That 
was four-and-a-half years ago. Oh ! how sincerely I 
praise the name of Him who has enabled me to keep 
that vow intact to the present time. I shall not attempt 
to analyze the process by which I made up my mind to 
reform. It seems to miraculous that a man who had 
fallen so low could be induced to make the attempt. It 
was a direct miracle of divine grace rescuing fallen hu- 
manity. When I cried to the Lord out of the depths He 
delivered me. It is because of my faith that there is a 
like deliverance for every sufferer who will seek it in the 
same way that I urge upon ienbriates everywhere the 
hopefulness of their boldly taking the same step. 

Although I had done what I could, thus far, I was satis- 
fied that I required speedy succor if I was to be saved ; 
but where it would come from was the problem. Dear 
reader, do you believe in an overruling Providence ? I 
do. As I stood there, not knowing where to turn my 
anxious steps, God threw out to me a little Providential 
thread, by following which I was led into a place of 
safety. I remembered having some conversation a few 
days before with regard to the Washingtonian Home. 
I determined to seek admittance to that institution, and 
accordingly set out in search of it. I found that it was 



40 OUT OP THE DEPTHS. 

situated on Madison street, opposite Union Park, about 
one and a half miles distant. Although I started at 
once, I was so enfeebled that it took me until nearly 
noon to get to the neighborhood of the Home. I did 
not go in directly — my heart failing me when I got in 
sight of it. Entering a saloon a short distance down 
on the opposite side of the street, I sat down for a last 
think. 

I was in a poor condition for lucid thought ; but the 
more I dwelt upon the matter, the more thoroughly I 
was convinced that the step suggested to me was the 
right one. When a man finds himself in such a desperate 
strait, the sooner he gets rid of pride and conventional 
prejudices the better. 

At length I entered the Home, and found myself in 
the presence of the Superintendent, J. M. Van Court. 
He spoke kindly, but stated that it was necessary that 
my friends should secure payment of my board, or that 
some arrangement to that end should be made. Not 
knowing exactly w T ho my friends were, or how I could 
muster enough strength to search for them, I told him I 
was helpless ; but if he could save a fellow-man from 
destruction there was no time to lose. I do not know 
what predisposed Mr. Van Court in my favor ; but he 
finally resolved to take me on trial, " For," said he, 
" with the dry New England twinkle in his eye, " I've 
" tried printers before, by the score, and not one of them 
" has succeeded in reforming/ ' 

Well, said I, — with a little spasm of doubt — I will be 
the one who will reform and stick to it. Heaven bles s 



" OUT OF THE DEPTHS."' 41 

the man, who, behind the dry exterior of a New Eng- 
lander, bears a heart as tender as any woman's ! In 
admitting me to the Home contrary to the strict letter 
of the law he saved me from inevitable death. 



CHAPTER X. 

LIFE IN THE HOME. 

The very fact that I sought the Washingtonian Home 
as a last asylum, in my extreme necessity, goes far to- 
wards indicating what kind of place it was. The build- 
ing at that time was an old three-story frame — since re- 
placed by a splendid edifice, I believe. It is governed 
by a board of directors and is always under the imme- 
diate charge of a superintendent and matron. It is, in 
fact, an inebriate asylum, and its inmates range from 
the unhappy victims of delirum tremens, placed there by 
their friends as a kind of forlorn hope, to men who de- 
liberately present themselves for the purpose of making 
a desperate struggle to gain the victory over the fearful 
appetite for strong drink. In this class I have met men 
capable of filling any position demanding classical 
scholarship, thorough business training and general ac- 
complishments of a high order. The wit, the poet, the 
ready writer, the orator, the child of genius ; alas ! alas ! 
Only a percentage of these poor fellows, even at the last 
awful extremity, will consent to be saved. I witnessed 
some heart-rending scenes in the Home. Many, how- 
ever, saved through this instrumentality, are to-day oc- 
cupying places of honor and trust. 

I entered the Home ill— so ill that the attendant phy- 



LIFE IN THE HOME. 43 



sician pronounced me incurable, and urged my being 
sent to the city hospital. I hated to go there, and plead 
so strongly that it was not insisted upon. I had a feel- 
ing strong upon me that God did not want me to die yet, 
and the result proved I was right. 

I sat in one spot most of the time for a week, simply 
because I w T as afraid to move about. Drinking men will 
know all about that feeling that makes one, when re- 
covering from a debauch, afraid to approach a stairway 
for fear of falling, or dread to overstep the slightest 
obstruction, lest a tumble should follow. It is partial 
paralysis. 

In a week or two my disease gave way before the 
medicines used, and I gradually gained strength. The 
warmth, the rest, the good, substantial food ! How good 
they seemed after the whirl of inebriety ! 

At last sleep came to me ; soft, sweet, refreshing : like 
that of an infant. Oh ! the blessed boon of sleep un- 
disturbed by the loathsome dreams of debauchery ! The 
ability to sleep seemed to be better medicine for mind 
and body than anything else. 

We had meetings in the chapel of the Home Wednes- 
day and Sunday evenings. On these occasions I ex- 
pressed my determination to make a thorough reforma- 
tion of it, by God's help, and several times I was blamed 
by the other inmates for being too radical ; but I believe 
I was right. Many of the poor fellows who refused to 
take strong ground are now hopeless wrecks. I was by 
no means a religious man at this time, but there was in 
connection with my experience a degree of tenderness of 
heart akin to religions emotion. Frequently during 



44 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



those days of crawling back to life I bowed in secret 
prayer, the burden of which w T as that I might be saved 
from intemperance. As the glamour of inebriety wore 
off I began to see the enormity of the sin of drunken- 
ness. From that time forward I bore this sense of im- 
purity in my heart, until I found relief through faith in 
the Sinner's Friend. 

As I sat there thinking, thinking : of the past, the 
present,t!ie future ; there dawned upon me something at 
last that I <*an never write except in capital letters— a 
glorious HOPE ! Hope, that embraced the welfare of 
my beloved ones, when I should be a reformed creature 
beyond peradventure — .iope that I should sometime stand, 
head erect before my fellow-men, redeemed from the 
curse of drunkenness — a hope that somewhere in this 
glorious, golden West I should be able to make a home 
for the dear family I had so cruelly wronged. 

I was six or seven weeks in the Home ere I wrote to 
my wife in Canada. Hitherto I had sent no relief to 
the family, and as I sobered the sense of shame at my 
heart made me fear to hear from them before I had for- 
warded -ome monev in their dire necessity. My wife 
wrote to friends in Chicago who searched for me high 
and low ; but not a trace of me could be found, and it 
was believed at last that I had sunk in the maelstrom of 
a great city's vice and misery. Hence, the joy with 
which the first letter home was hailed. 

I became stronger each day, and began to long for 
some kind of steady employmont. I determined to start 
right at the bottom of the ladder and work my way up. 
It was a good resolve, as I now look back at it. Let 



LIFE IN THE HOME 45 



me urge it as strongly as possible upon all who are seek- 
ing reformation to go right to work at the first thing 
that presents itself, and stick to it. The temptation to 
return to drink is not half so strong when we are busy 
at work. I soon obtained a lit lie employment at which 
I labored till June, 1872, when one day I met Charles 
Stevenson, a printer-friend, who invited me down to 
Aurora to work on Mr. Edward's great Directory of 
Chicago. 



CHAPTER XL 

IN AURORA. 

That same day I left for Aurora, 111., expecting to be 
absent only about seven weeks. In a few days work 
commenced and w r ent on rapidly till August, when the 
Chicago Directory was completed. In our office force of 
some forty hands most of the poor fellows drank up their 
Avages as fast as they earned them, but I can truly say 
that I had not the slightest temptation to indulge. In- 
deed, the more I saw of liquor and its effects the more 
loathsome it became to me. I sent a little money home 
to my family each week, placing the balance of my 
wages in a savings bank, to meet the grand end I had 
in view. Having written previously for my family to 
come on, I went into Chicago on the 7th of August to 
meet them. 

As the boat touched the dock and I leaped upon the 
deck, the reader may imagine the scene, as locked in 
each others' arms, the tears of gladness flowed from our 
eyes. The dead was alive — the old-time husband and 
father had come back again, and — all was well. 

On clubbing together our little remaining funds, my 
wife and I found we would be very bare by the time we 
got to Aurora with our effects, and so I had to sell my 



IN AURORA. 47 



much-loved library to a heartless shark of a second-hand 
dealer, for a mere tithe of what it had cost me. I felt this 
forced deprivation very much. To part with authors whom 
I had conversed with as to familiar friends in happier 
days, seemed to be the heaviest blow of the kind that 
had fallen upon me, and yet the pitiful sum it produced 
was necessary to help in our fresh start in life. 

Gathering together what was left of our household 
effects, and with hearts determined not to be appalled at 
the difficulties lying before us, we traveled by rail to 
Aurora. Without any certainty of how work would be, 
I had determined to keep my flock from the vicious sur- 
roundings of a great city, in hopes that the way would 
brighten before us. I had rented a little house ; but to 
place in it furniture and such utensils as were absolute- 
ly necessary to commence house-keeping in even the 
smallest way, was a problem very difficult to solve. 
Rather sad was that family " council of war," on ways 
and means, as my dear wife and I slowly paced up the 
shady side of the street on that hot August day. I 
thought at the time, and have often thought since, that 
the reformation of such a man as I was did not partake 
altogether of the romantic. In the temperance tale we 
are taught that the climax of interest is reached when 
the poor drunkard is fairly ushered into his new life. 
That may be true in a certain sense ; but, as I look 
upon the matter, the greatest and noblest work has yet 
to be accomplished. You may conduct the man to the 
foot of the ladder and place his foot upon the bottom 
round, but how little of the w T ork of reformation will be 
thus accomplished ! Will the poor fellow climb through 



48 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

all the difficulties which beset him ? Will he stand true 
as steel in. the presence of fierce temptation? 

Tt was a humble habitation into which I ushered my 
wife and little ones, and very humble were the surround- 
ings, and yet this was " Home, sweet aome." We were 
re-united, and I believe each member of the family was 
filled with an earnest desire and determination to spare 
no exertion to raise ourselves into a better position. 
With this courage in our hearts we could afford to laugh 
at the shaky condition of the furniture, and to pardon 
the many cracks in our stove when w T e tasted how good 
was the cooking it did. All this, no doubt, may seem 
very simple and foolish to those whose lives have always 
been happy and comfortable ; but to those who are 
struggling to make a fresh start in life, it means a great 
deal. 

For some weeks I had partial employment in the old 
office. Finally, however, work slackened and then gave 
out altogether, with the hope to cheer us that at some 
indefinite period it would be revived. What a weary 
time of waiting that was ! Week after week passed 
away — six, seven, eight — and still nothing to do! That 
was my time of trial. There we were, in a land of 
plenty, to be sure ; but strangers in a strange land, 
where cash in hand was the rule of trade, and our last 
dollar went long before relief came. I am satisfied that 
a hint of our condition to the good Christian people of 
Aurora would have brought immediate succor, and yet 
I have always been glad that hint was never uttered. 
As 1 sat there day after day, brooding over the awful 
condition into which I had brought my dear ones by my 



IN AURORA. 49 



own folly, I was forced to endure a degree of remorse 
and shame and discouragement such as I had never felt 
before. I had made an honest effort at reformation, and, 
after all, we must go down under the pressure of grind- 
ing want. Where could I turn ? What could I do ? 
As I look back at that time, and the fierce struggle 
through which I passed, sitting helplessly idle when I 
longed for employment, I can see that it was the great 
Ordeal of my life. Many and many a time would I 
have sunk in despair had it not been for the presence of 
one who, standing faithfully by my side, pointed with 
steady faith to the better time that was surely coming. 
Oh ! the holy confidence of the little half-sick pale-faced 
woman who proved so faithful and true in that dark 
hour ! May God bless her. 

Dear reader, since that time I have had much expe- 
rience of drinking men, and one fact, above all others 
has affected my heart : W T hen a man has gone down 
under the influence of strong drink ; when all of former 
good has faded away ; when cherished boon companions 
have turned their backs upon him, the last ooe to for- 
sake the poor outcast is some mother, or daughter or 
wife. Nay, how seldom does the loving heart ever for- 
sake the degraded one. Oh ! save my husband ! save 
my son ! is" the wail that has come up to me from many 
a bleeding heart. 

At last the weary waiting came to an end. Work 
was resamed at the office, and the stream of life began 
to flow more cheerfully. That seemed to end the great 
struggle of our lives, for since that time work has been 
plentiful and the way clear at all times. Indeed, the 



50 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

indications of Providence became very clear. During 
the spring following, just as the last of our directory 
work was to close and the office be removed to Chicago, 
our foreman came in one evening and in a sneering way 
announced that Mr. Bailey, proprietor of the Free 
Methodist, then printed in Aurora, wanted a hand. Our 
office people generally hooted at the smallness of the 
job, but, thinking it might suit me, I quietly washed my 
hands and stepped over to see Mr. Bailey. In the con- 
versation that followed I frankly told him what kind of 
man I had been and what I was trying to be. Some- 
thing in the recital, I know not what, seemed to incline 
his heart towards me, and as we shook hands at parting 
I knew not only that I had obtained the situation, but 
secured a life-long friend. 

That was a good step for me to take. In a few weeks 
Brother Bailey gave me the foremanship of the paper, 
and handed over the proof-reading and other office res- 
ponsibilities which I have endeavored to meet in a spirit 
of faithfulness to the present day. The ^terary charac- 
ter of the paper just suited the bent of my mind, and 
as I had in the past studied up Methodistic theology 
pretty thoroughly, I felt very much at home. To Lewis 
Bailey and J. M. Y. Smith, both now gone to their 
reward, I owe a great deal — not for any direct good they 
did me so much as their quiet recognition that I was a 
member of the human family, and, as such, entitled to 
some regard in my sphere in life. If employer and 
employed always held towards each other such relations 
as did Brother Bailey and I, how much would the burden 
of business life be lightened ! He said little or nothing 



IN AURORA. 51 



to me on the subject of religion, which, perhaps, was 
the wisest course he could have taken. It was much 
better for me that my knowledge of the genius of Free 
Methodism should be gathered from the silent logic of 
Christian lives and the influence of what came under 
my observation in the columns of the paper. I can 
truly say that up to the period of his untimely death in 
December, 1873, Brother Bailey's intercourse with me 
was of the kind best calculated to heal the harsh wounds 
in my heart, and the months spent in the service of 
Sister Bailey, until the paper was transferred to its 
present proprietors were, I believe, fraught with mu- 
tual pleasure and profit. 

On the 12th of August, 1874, The Free Methodist 
office became the property of its present proprietors, 
Messrs. Baker & Arnold, by purchase from Sister Bai- 
ley. It was decided by the new purchasers to remove 
the office from Aurora to Sycamore, 111., which was done 
during August, 1874. 1 accompanied the office to Syca- 
more, in the capacity of foreman, and, taking a great 
liking to the little city on account of its beauty and 
thrift, I have tried to lay the foundation of a permanent 
home for my family. The Lord has, thus far, smiled 
upon our earnest efforts. With regard to the new pro- 
prietors and my relations to them, I am, of course, not 
free to say much ; but it cannot be wrong to bear testi- 
mony to their universal kindness, and the constant 
pleasure I have experienced in their service. Indeed, 
our feelings towards each other have been those of 
brothers rather than the sort produced by mere dollar 
and ecu: arrangements. 



CHAPTER XII. 

MY SPIRITUAL RESTORATION. 

From the fact that when I left off drink in Jan., 
1872, to Aug., 1875, I made no special profession of 
Christianity, some have leaped to the conclusion that, 
after all, my reformation was nothing more than a most 
extraordinary exertion of human will. As the case will 
doubtless prove interesting to the Christian reader, it 
may be well to present somewhat fully the facts of my 
restoration to spiritual life. 

Let the reader turn back to the description I have 
given of myself as I appeared on the morning of the 
23d of January, 1872, and decide in his or her mind 
whether such a poor lost creature could possibly sum- 
mon up willpower enough to accomplish the enormous 
work of self-reformation. It is easy for people who are 
not under the slavery of appetite to declare that when 
the mind is fully made up and kept to the great point 
aimed at the blessed work is more than half accom- 
plished. I have heard lecturers declare that it is theirs* 
glass that brings ruin back to soul and body under such 
circumstances ; but what can these fine gentlemen and 
ladies know of the agony of the wretched man who is 



MY SPIRITUAL RESTORATION. 53 

endeavoring to steel himself against taking that first 
glass when his whol^ being cries out for the accustomed 
stimulus with a degree of fierceness which will take no 
ordinary denial ? What do they know of the power it 
takes to hold such an one to any lucid purpose ? I had 
tried to reform many times before, under far more favor- 
able circumstances, and yet each failure was worse than 
the last. On this occasion, however, sick, with flutter- 
ing heart and quivering nerves, and the whole weight 
of my degredation upon me, I was enabled to stop, at 
once and forever ! I could no more have done that 
than I could have created a world. 

No ! no ! the secret of the whole matter is here : 
There comes a time in the career of every drinking man 
when he is in a condition of awful extremity — when 
sunk in the depths, he sees vividly that it is a matter of 
life or death ; that if he is not saved now he never will 
be. A God of infinite love and pity and tenderness 
beholds the wretched one in the horrible pit and miry 
clay. The poor drunkard cries to the only One able to 
save "ont of the depths/ 9 and then He, who must hate 
of all things to see such a loathsome object die in his 
sin, hears that last despairing cry, and reaching away 
down, draws up the sinner and he is saved — God puts 
into him the ability to trample appetite under foot, and 
thus the way is open for his salvation. Nothing but the 
power of God can save a man in such a fearful extrem- 
ity as I have described ! 

I felt this from the very dawn of final reformation, as 
it sprang up in my mind I recognized a spirit of tender- 
ness such as I had not' experienced ior years. I felt 



54 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

certain that God pitied me, and that, I truly believe, 
was the dawning of my hope ; for if he pitied me, he 
would surely help me out of the jaws of Hell. 

From the first hour of my deliverance the Spirit of 
God was ever present, pleading with me to become a 
true Christian, and I can conscientiously say that there 
was an ever-growing purpose to listen to those sweet 
pleadings. I should have taken a stand at once as a 
Christian, and thus have given God glory for what had 
been done for me ; but let the reader remember that, no 
matter what may have been the extent of former enjoy- 
ment, the mind of a man w T ho sinks as low as I did becomes 
extremely dark, and less surprise will be experienced. 

Right here I would like to allude to a matter of vital 
importance and one which should not, in my estimation, 
be left out of the discussion of temperance reformation : 
When a man with no special reference to Christianity, 
becomes reformed, and, purified from the last taint of 
alcohol, enters into the duties and responsibilities of a 
member of society once more, are not the restraints of 
honor, family pride, and a consciousness of integrity of 
purpose, perfect safeguards against his ever falling again? 
That is a question put by thousands who strongly desire 
to enjoy the full benefits of a life of temperance with- 
out having to bend the will — what there is of it — to the 
claims of Christianity. After having had much ex- 
perience with such men, and having been able to watch 
their career, for a number of years, I have no hesitation 
in answering, No ! Men sometimes start well. They 
cut of the indulgence of their appetite and declare that 
tLey are iorever done with that which has blighted their 



MY SPIRITUAL RESTORATION. 55 

lives. The principle that animates them is dogged 
determination allied with hnman pride. Now, to look 
at such persons, you would believe they were stable as the 
everlasting hills. It is not so, however; for, w T hen the 
hour of great trial comes, the poor, frail human will gives 
way and down sinks the man who thought himself so 
strong. Let some great calamity arise — some downfall 
in business, the death of a very dear friend, or any- 
thing of the kind, and the result is almost inevitable. 
The poor fellow's props are all taken away, and he at 
once topples to his fall. No matter how long men may 
have stood the test — I have known them do so for years 
— if they persistently resist the claims of religion they 
will ultimately fall. I have seen some heart-breaking 
cases of this, some of which, w T ith a few of an opposite 
character, will be related in another chapter. 

Being well aware that the Christian was fully armed 
against any assault, and occupied a vantage ground that 
could never fail while a hold was retained of the Divine 
Arm, I made up my mind at last that I would seek the 
double-assurance promised in the Word of God. 

From the nature of my calling it was my duty to read 
very carefully all the articles which passed through our 
paper, and as these mainly treated upon matters con- 
nected with vital religion, I was placed by the kind 
Providence that saved me thus far under the most favor- 
able circumstances for discovering what my aching heart 
wanted to know. Often, as I have read an article 
embracing a deep experience of the things of God, 
which seemed to warfri the soul into a blaze of spiritual 
liie, I Lave laid the manuscript or prooi down and asked 



56 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

myself the question, " Is that really so ? if I were to 
comply with these conditions would I feel anything like 
that ? What a blessed change it would be ! Why, that 
was the kind of religion I longed for in the ardent days 
of my young manhood !" 

As the months passed on I made up my mind at last 
that I would publicly embrace Christianity at the first 
favorable opportunity. I kept my own secret, however, 
not even letting my wife know the state of my feelings. 

At this time we were attending a fashionable church, 
where the members who had the true ring of Christian- 
ity about them might be counted upon a very small 
scale, and where pride and formality held full sway over 
the great majority. Several times "revivals" were 
held in thig church, but while I wished to possess a res- 
pectable kind of religion, I thought this was too respect- 
able to satisfy the longings of my nature, and I could 
not, therefore, accept of it. 

About the middle of August, 1875, the Free Meth- 
odist people erected in our town what they called a 
district tent, capable of accommodating two or three 
hundred people, for the purpose of holding religious 
meetings, several ministers from a distance being called 
upon to render assistance from time to time. 

I listened to the preaching attentively. The doc- 
trines explained were, as far as I could see, those of the 
Bible. The people were urged to come through a 
thorough conviction and repentance to the only Way of 
escape. It was held out that nothing short of a com- 
plete separation from the world and a complete, all-em- 
bracing consecration to the service of God could enable us 



MY SPIRITUAL RESTORATION. 57 

to enter the Holy City at last. I believed every word 
of it ! I had longed for such a religion in my early 
manhood. It was the religion of Wesley and his coad- 
jutors. It fired the hearts of all moral reformers who 
had ever appeared upon the earth. It was the vital 
element of Christian holiness — the religion of the Bible. 

And yet I had some serious objections. A people 
who held such close scriptural ideas with regard to dress r 
etc., must necessarily be unpopular and looked down 
upon by the masses of so-called respectable society, and 
this is far from being agreeable to the natural man. 
When one seriously begins to count the cost of living 
a life of self-denial and cro-s-bearing for Christ's sake, 
many things assume a new aspect. 

But while I felt that I might be able to count all 
things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of 
my blessed Saviour, there was one point upon which I 
foresaw great difficulty: If I joined these simple- 
hearted people, amongst other things I would have to 
give up the use of tobacco ; and that, seeing that I had 
used it excessively for fifteen long years, was a terrible 
trial. I stopped at that point several days, not know- 
ing what I should do. I really didn't believe I could 
give up using tobacco. It seemed as though it would be 
losing all there was worth living for in this world. I 
had repeatedly tried to part with it in years past, but 
the attempt had almost crazed me. I knew, or thought 
I knew, that if I made the attempt, the raging desire 
for the stimulant would beset me the moment I left the 
tent. Any of my readers who have used tobacco to 
excess know the full meaning of what I say. 



58 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

And yet on the other hand I had longed for years to 
get forever rid of a habit that I felt to be disgusting, 
enervating and degrading. In the presence of a refined 
lady, I always remembered that I was liable to be de- 
tected in the use of the horrible weed. I was satisfied 
it was detrimental to health. I knew that tobacco- 
using robbed me of power as a temperance man. How 
many times it has come to me in the midst of a temper- 
ance address : How can you consistently urge these 
men to forsake one evil habit, liquor-drinking, while you 
are a slave to its twin-curse, tobacco. 

All this, with the tremendous truth that he who uses 
tobacco defiles his body, which is the temple of the 
Holy Ghost, and thereby shuts himself out of spiritual 
light and willfully plods along in moral darkness, con- 
vinced my judgment that this was a vice to continue a 
moment longer in which would be sin. And yet came 
the response, How can I ever give it up ? I now saw 
the point clearly : All genuine consecration is tested at 
some point, and, although there was not the slightest 
merit in my acceptance or rejection of the heavy cross 
as I regarded it, this point was where I was to meet 
with victory or defeat. At last I consented to go for- 
word one evening amongst the seekers. Though some- 
what dark, my mind needed but little instruction as 
regarded the way of salvation. I was determined to be 
a Christian. I had endeavored to count the whole cost. 
Still, here was the test question of giving up tobacco. 
As I knelt there a few of the friends gathered round, 
to whom, at last, I stated my position. They assured 
ine that the very tact that God had convicted me so 



MY SPIRITUAL RESTORATION. 59 

powerfully was proof that he washed to work out for mo 
a great deliverance. I stated all my doubts and fears, 
when it was explained to me that Jesus was a perfect 
Saviour and would take aw T ay the appetite for tobacco or 
anything else that was sinful. 

It seemed to me that I must give up. I could not 
bear to put off a matter of so much moment till a 
"more convenient season," and there was no possibility 
of crossing this spiritual Rubicon until the price was 
paid. Well, said I, at last, I shall try the experiment 
and test this matter to the bottom. By the help of 
God I have done with tobacco forever ! 

That was all. I had previously given up all else for 
Christ's sake, and I now took him for my blessed 
Saviour. The most I felt at the moment was a great, 
deep quietness of soul. Soon after I arose and retired. 
Near the door, all unseen, except by Him who was my 
helper, I drew forth a great roll of strong fine-cut 
tobacco, and threw it as far as possible into the tall 
grass. Since that hour I have never been troubled with 
the appetite for tobacco ! My deliverance seems almost 
miraculous. Let every slave to this destructive drug, 
who really wants to get rid of his chains, take a similar 
course, and God will undoubtedly give him as glorious 
a victory. The scores of thrilling testimonies I have 
heard since that time, of a character similar to my own, 
are confirmatory of the truth of the statement which 
was made to me so confidently, and to which I adhere 
with all my heart : Faith in Christ will raise us above 
the power of any appetite. 

I went straight home, and told my dear wife the step 



60 OUT OF THB DEPTHS. 



I had taken, and there and then, at 3 o'clock in the morn- 
ing, we re-erected the family altar which I had broken 
down so ruthlessly in the years of my cruel bondage. I 
trust, henceforth, its sacrificial fires will never go out. I 
always had an idea that my wife kept up family prayer, 
while I was a wanderer, which, I am glad to say, was 
really the case ; but the husband ought to be the sacri- 
ficial priest of the household. I need hardly say how 
much my present decided act cheered the . heart of the 
brave, patient woman who had prayed and hoped for 
this during so many weary years. 

That evening I was conscious of no great outburst of 
feeling. I had finished my part of some great trans- 
action. It was irrevocably done ! and here I rested my 
case. 

In the morning, early, it seemed as though a heavenly 
guest awakened me, and tenderly, lovingly, introduced 
me to a new life, wherein by faith I beheld Jesus as 
indeed my Saviour. Oh ! what a flood of gloijy swept 
over my soul as I realized that " the past was under the 
blood ;" that I was a Christian; that all the fearful 
wrong I had done stood against me no longer. 

Since that time I can conscientiously say that I have 
been trying to walk in the light of God and do his 
whole will, and I thank his name for the blessings he 
has bestowed upon me and mine. My natural disposi- 
tion is to be retiring and diffident ; but, feeling called of 
God to the work, I have stepped into every Providen- 
tial door to proclaim to the fallen and downtrodden ones 
of earth the Gospel of Temperance — the great, glorious 
truth that there is power in the blood of Jesus Christ 



MY SPIRITUAL RESTORATION. 61 

to raise the poor drunkard, clothe him in his right mind, 
and send him forth a new creature. If, when the great 
Reckoning Day comes, it will be found that a few of 
the outcasts of society have been saved by such feeble 
instrumentality, how glad I shall be. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS. 

Tho intelligent reader who has followed me thus far 
in my narrative, will have observed that I dwell w T ith 
particular pains upon the statement of my belief that 
nothing short of the grace of God can enable a man to 
succeed in the work of reformation. I wish I could 
make this point as clear as its great importance would 
warrant. As one means to this end, I have thought 
that a few incidents selected at random from amongst 
those which have come under my own observation, bear- 
ing upon this branch of the subject, may prove inter- 
esting and profitable. Most of these cases came under 
my notice while I was a resident of the Washingtonian 
Home, Chicago, one of the best places in the world in 
which to study this subject. In mentioning certain 
cases I will adhere substantially to facts, although it 
will not be necessary to publish proper names, or even 
initials in some cases. 

Harry B. was a young man who, had it not been for 
the blight of strong drink, might have occupied a 
splendid position amongst his fellows. He was educated 
in the city of Montreal, Canada, and was a thorough 



ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS. 63 

linguist, speaking several languages fluently, and being 
thoroughly cultured in every other respect. A splendid 
penman, and skilled in almost every branch of business, 
he could command a good position almost anywhere. 
Unfortunately for himself, he learned amongst the young 
men of his native city to love the billiard-hall and to 
qu^ff, at last, the glass of wine-nectar. The young 
man w T ho is governed by the high instincts of a gentle- 
man and a man of the world, hides this species of 
wrong-doing from those he loves for a long time ; but 
there comes a period when he feels that it will be impos- 
sible much longer to hide his excesses from loving eyes. 
Feeling this truth. Harry, with the blessing of his deer 
old mother on his head and followed by her prayers, 
departed for Chicago — to make for himself name and 
fortune in the great metropolis of the Northwest. — For- 
tune at once poured her favors at his feet. He w T as 
employed by one of the great firms of the city, and as 
his talents became known, he was speedily promoted, 
and in a very short time took his place as head book- 
keeper of the firm. What more could be desired ? His 
salary would enable him to cultivate refi* ed tastes, and 
if he would but take the right stand in society his 
career must necessarily be a bright and useful one. 

But there was danger in the path. Harry was free- 
hearted, easy with his money, and in an evil moment he 
allowed himself to be led into the habits which had 
driven him from home. How easily they are acquired 
in a great city, and how difficult it is to get rid of them, 
is known iv thousands of victims The billiard-room 
was his besetment. It was easy to go out of its glare 



64 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



and glitter into deeper depths of vice, the doors of 
which were enticingly open at all times. For months 
this kind of life went on, and yet Harry contrived to 
appear each morning as though nothing was the matter, 
and to discharge his duties with fair ability. But, how 
true it is that Dissipation, as well as Murder, " will 
out." At last the employers of Harry B. learned that 
their head book-keeper was leading a life of dissipation. 
They were good men and could not bear the idea of 
turning him away for his sin ; ' ut they expostulated 
with him on his course, and besought him earnestly to 
reform. Poor Harry's proud spirit bent, and in his 
shame he promised he would have nothing more to do 
with the strong drink that lay at the bottom of all his 
troubles. In one week he had broken his vow and was 
in trouble deeper than ever. Then it went on from bad 
to worse, until the employers' patience became exhausted. 

As a last resource, he entered the Home with a fixed 
determination to reform. His employers would not 
desert him while there was the least glimmer of hope. 
Morning and evening, for a length of time, ""hey sent 
their private carriage to convey him to and from their 
place of business, lavishing upon him otherwise every- 
thing that kindness and esteem could suggest. He tried 
hard to reform — in his own way. He had his theories 
of reformation, as cold and heartless as the French phi- 
losophy he read, but Christianity must have no part in 
the work. On this point he was decided to the degree 
of stubbornness. 

For many weeks he lived the quiet life of the Home, 
and his gentle behaviour and steady habits led all to 



ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS. 65 

hope that the work of reformation had taken deep root 
in his nature, and that he was going to win his way 
back to the position in society he had forfeited. 

One Saturday night, however, he started down town. 
As that was not unusual with him, nothing was thought 
of it, until his non-appearance at bed-time created 
curious comment among the officers of the Home and 
those who had observed the correctness of his life for 
some months back. Morning came and with it no intel- 
ligence of Harry. Messengers were sent to the various 
police-stations, and still nothing could be heard as to his 
whereabouts. 

Finally attention was directed to a paragraph in one 
of the Sunday-morning papers, describing the body of a 
young man killed during the night. The description 
seeming tc indicate that the body was that of our miss- 
ing companion, enquiry was made, and sure enough the 
awful discovery was made that the gifted Harry B. lay 
a mangled corpse. 

On investigation, the facts of the case were discovered 
to be substantially as follows : On that fatal Saturday 
night, as he was passing the door of one of the flashiest 
billiard halls in the heart of the city, he stopped and 
remarked to an acquaintance that he owed the propri- 
etor of the hall a small bill and would step in and pay. 
Suiting the action to the word he entered. The money 
being paid over, the proprietor, loth to lose such a fine 
customer, invited Harry to have a drink. At first he 
refused, but being urged, consented to drink something 
" very light." Then it was suggested that a game of 
billiards would be in order. Poor Harry had nothing but 



66 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



his own feeble will-power to help him stand up against 
this great temptation and it was bat a few moments ere 
he was deeply absorbed in a game of billiards. The 
fatal step being taken, to order and imbibe drink after 
drink was a natural event. 

A. drunken man is apt to be hurried by the devil from 
one place to another. It was conjectured that Harry 
wandered in the dead hours of the night in search of 
some place or person until he stumbled into one of the 
great railway yards up-town, and, being confused with 
liquor, was thrown down by an engine and crushed out 
of all semblance of humanity. The mangled remains 
were brought home to us, but I will draw a veil over 
them. The sight was a terrible one. 

Here was a young man, who felt his fall and degra- 
dation most keenly, and who longed to shake off the mana- 
cles that bound him. He had youth, and loving friends, 
and bright prospects to lure him on to virtue ; he was 
surrounded by every consideration which could impel a 
man to true penitence and reformation — whether the 
awful death of those snatched away before our eyes by 
delirium tremens, or the example of those who proved 
by invoking and availing themselves of the power of 
One able to save. But he would be saved in his own 
proud way or not at all, and the young man of great 
promise and unbounded capabilities — the darling of a 
Christian mother — went down in this woful manner to 
the regions of darkness and despair. 

Thomas C. was a man of quite a different stamp : 
He was somewhat older and was a widow r er. He was a 



ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS. 67 

man, naturally, of sterling integrity of character, com- 
bining a clear intelligence with much acquired ability in 
his business ; everybody liked him because his was a 
large, noble nature. lie had always, however, discarded 
the claims of Christianity ; even when his wife died, 
urging him to take a higher course. Instead of doing 
that which w T ould have saved him, he tried to drown his 
deep sorrow in drink. Down, down he went in his rapid 
career until, as usual, all went into the mad vortex — 
character, home, business, health, happiness. He went 
to the Home in the desperate hope that he might be 
able to reform. Being a man of great w T ill-power, he 
contrived by the aid of those who extended the helping 
hand, to regain his feet, and for many months no one 
could be found willing to cast anj r doubt upon the com- 
plete change that had taken place in the character of 
Thomas C. He held up his head once more amongst his 
fellows and seemed like a new man indeed. Still it was 
very clear that he held himself aloof from Christian 
influence, and seemed to scout the idea that it could 
have anything to do with a man's reformation from 
drinking habits. The man was trusting in his own 
strength — depending upon that force of character which 
is regarded with so much complacency as a man's chief 
reliance while in an unsaved state. 

Our friend C. obtained a situation in the decorative 
department of one of the princely mercantile houses of 
the city, and for a time all went well. One day, how- 
ever, some words of an angry nature with his employers 
led to his discharge. 

With a man who was actuated by love to God, as an 



68 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

active principle, this only meant a look around for a 
fresh situation, but it came with more force than Thomas 
C. had moral strength to bear. 

A man who has once been addicted to drunkenness 
never forgets the power there is in alcohol to drown sen- 
sibility. That is one reason why so many thousands fly 
to drink the moment any calamity — real or fancied — 
comes upon them. So it was w 7 ith the subject of this 
short sketch. He who had asserted (in his own strength) 
so frequently that he would never again touch the de- 
stroyer, in an unguarded moment, when passion swayed 
his soul, forgot his pledges and his former sorrows, and 
again sought solace in " drink. " 

What a sudden change took place : One night's orgie 
transformed the upright, gentlemanly mechanic into a 
filthy-looking creature who could only fir d proper asso- 
ciates in the vile wdiisky-saloon. To look at this tremb- 
ling, tobacco-smeared, blaspheming creature, one could 
hardly by any stretch of the imagination, believe that 
it was the Thomas C. we had know 7 n the day before. 

His downward career w T as very swift. High-strung 
men always descend rapidly — especially if they have 
been over the way before. In a week his best friend 
would barely recognize him, and where he may be 
to-day I will leave the reader to conjecture. I can 
only say, While there is life there is hope. 

The above is another clear case of what is meant by 
the assertion that a man is in extreme danger, every 
day, of falling if all his efforts to stand up in the new 
life depend upon self as the sustaining power. W 7 hy ? it is 
like erecting a fence of spider's web to check the on- 



ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS. 69 

rush of a number of infuriated wild-beasts. Poor C- 
would not have Divine aid to help him, and he fell back 
into the horrible career of a drunkard. 

McG. was a middle-aged Scotchman, and an oddity. 
One of those men whose character is made up of odd 
knobs, and kinks, and krinkles ; who are hard to get hold 
of and harder still to handle. He was hard-headed, 
but somehow ail his logic ran the wrong way. When 
sober he delighted in the arguments of Hume and the 
philosophy of George Coombe ; under the influence of 
liquor he would preach the Gospel, while tears streamed 
down his cheeks. Poor Mc. was a very antithesis of 
humanity. While you agreed with him all was well; 
but cross him and take care, for you would hear the 
harsh Scottish twang, and feel a verbal arrow sticking 
in your ribs. 

Our friend was a single man. At one time his warm 
Scottish nature had plunged him into a quagmire of 
intemperance, out of which he w T as pulled by some 
friends. He reformed, became a bright light in the 
temperance bodies — an oracle unto himself and every- 
body else. He not able to stand of his ow r n strength of 
will, indeed ! Why, was he not standing? Proof! away 
with the priestcraft idea that a man could not find all 
the elements oi reformation from within. 

. This man stood four or five years, until at last he 
fell through a very simple cause : He had been for 
several years foreman of one of the departments of 
Pullman's Palace Car W 7 orks, and, in an evil moment, 
took his lunch in a neighboring restaurant where wine, 
beer, etc., composed a part of the bill of fare. 



70 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



Afraid of the associations of such a place ? Not he ! 
He rather glored in the opportunity of showing how 
strong he was. He knew what he was about, and if 
other people would mind their business, he was sure 
he had common sense enough not to make a fool of 
himself. 

How it came about I never heard, precisely, but in 
a week or two McGr. was picked up in the streets in a 
beastly state o'" intoxication. The end came swiftly. 
The old appetite returned with tenfold fury ; one excess 
followed another rapidly ; the situation went, the decent 
clothing went ; and in a few short w r eeks the devil had 
the proud, self-willed man dressed in his ow 7 n livery. 
Where he is to-day I know not ; but from his headlong 
nature I can see nothing before him, but the city hos- 
pital and a friendless grave. 

The fate of W. Y\ T , being that of a large class of 

young men, impressed us all very much. He was truly 
a representative Western young man. Tall, lithe, vig- 
orous of frame. Intellectually he had very few supe- 
riors. His mind was of that regal kind which takes 
intelligence as an inherited right. He was at home in 
most branches of literature, while he was an - adept in 
business. From the easy grace of his movements, the 
courtesy which marked his speech, and the gentlemanly 
behaviour that wag manifested by him, one would be 
ready to say, There is a perfect character. 

And yet, alas, there was a rankling evil within that 
fair exterior : W. loved alcoholic drinks. Periodically, 
like too many another good fellow, he found himself in 
their presence " weak as water," Oh I what mighty 



ILLUSTRATIVE IMCIDENTS. 71 

power that young man exerted, of his own accord, to 
stand against the overwhelming influence that was urg- 
ing him to the brink of the precipice. It was insuf- 
ficient — like the work of a child, with his wand, endea- 
voring to disperse an army. 

Occasionly, it would seem that he had got the victory 
over appetite, but a week or two would dispel the 
illusion. There was little hope for him, because, des- 
pite the tears and entreaties of those who loved him, 
and the kindly efforts put forth to lead the poor sinner 
to the true remedy, he remained cold and obdurate as 
regarded the claims of Christianity. He could not and 
w T ould not see why a man could not stand in the power 
that was his innately against strong drink. He wanted to 
be a reformed man, but he was not ready to be a Chris- 
tian. It was easy to see, however, that each debauch 
brought him lower and lower. The end must be near — 
wha kind of an end would it be ? 

One bright afternoon — I remember it well — W. 
entered his room, accompanied by a friend. They had 
both been drinking long and deep somewhere down 
in the city. The senses of poor W. were thoroughly 
confused. On his table stood a little bottle filled with 
aconite and labeled " Poison." The label was nothing 
to him just then, because the fluid looked like brandy. 
Seizing the bottle in his drunken frenzy, he uncorked 
it, and swallowed the contents. 

In a few moments the quiet house was filled with the 
sound of agitated voices and hurried feet, and then two 
physicians and their assistants stood between the strong 
young man and Death. The struggle was an awful one ; 



72 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



but in one short half-hour all was over. Human skill 
had failed to overcome the deadly effects of the poison, 
and the one from whom we had a right to expect much 
had it not been for this curse, lay before us dead. 

But why multiply these incidents ? They are only a 
few amongst scores of a like character, all pointing to 
the same great truth. For a number of years, now, I 
have been investigating this s bject — seeking informa- 
tion wherever it can be found, and I am more thoroughly 
convinced to-day than ever, that if w T e trist to our own 
efforts to work out a complete reformation, failure will 
be the result. 

I want to press this idea, in view of the noble fellows 
whom I have seen fall at my side in the battle of life, 
and of the bleaching bones of those whom I have known 
to fall out and die wretchedly by the way. 

I am glad there is an opposite — and a glorious one 
to this dark side of the picture. There is a lit le army 
of men and women who, feeling their own power was 
weakness and except God saved they must perish, have 
made short work of reformation by calling upon the 
Lord for help. — In all these cases the w T ork is instan- 
taneous and thorough. No man who holds on to the 
arm of God to give him victory over strong-drink or 
any other object of appetite, can fail while that hold is 
retained. For evidence of the truthfulness of this asser- 
tion, I need only point to the evangelical churches of 
the land in which living witnesses are to be found — in 
greater numbers than ever before I am fain to believe. 
I had intended to mention a number of cases that came 
under my observation, but one or two will suffice. 



ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS. 73 

Robert L. was another representative young man — 
from the hills of New Hampshire. Of splendid phy- 
sique, he had a heart as tender as any woman's. Look- 
ing at the man and observing his nobility of character, 
one could not help asking over and over again. How 
came he ever to be a drunkard ? That he did, however, 
was certain — not in the sense of the utmost degreda- 
tion, but so clearly, in his own estimation, that he 
determined ere the disease became incurable to seek a 
permanent cure. Ere he could make up his mind as to 
the step he was prompted to take, he walked the streets 
of Chicago for a whole night. 

In the morning he entered the Washingtonian Home. 
It was no light matter with him. He saw that he stood 
in a dangerous position, and while he had will-power 
enough left to make the start he was determined by the 
help of God to reform his life. 

He was received gladly, and from the first hour of 
his residence in the institution, no one had the least 
doubt that he would be amongst those who would step 
out of the Home a free man. There was with him no 
sneer at religion and its claims— no argument as to the 
nature and effects of alcoholism. He knew tho blight- 
ing effects of whisky-drinking and he went to work in 
the right way to apply the remedy. Wherever Robert 
went there seemed to be an atmosphere of Christian 
kindness. In the hospital, where Rum's finished work 
was to be found, the poor victims were soothed by his 
presence when all other means failed. 

His employers did not look coldly upon him because 
he was an inmate of an inebriate asylum — thereby 



74 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

admitting that he needed reformation. Far from it. 
Much as they esteemed him before, this deliberate act 
seemed to endear him to them more closely than ever. 
Although the firm in which our friend held a responsi- 
ble position, of a subordinate nature, was one of the 
heaviest, yet there was not a breath of suspicion that 
Robert would prove derelict to duty. 

Did he succeed in reforming ? Yes ! of course. He 
commenced right, went right along, and left the institu- 
tion beloved and honored by all. Behind him there 
remained an influence that rested sweetly upon many a 
heart. If I ever meet him in after life, I expect to 
grasp the hand of a man who has been rescued from a 
drunkard's loathsome career by Divine grace. 

W. C. C. was a very hard case — deserted by friends, 
given up as lost by every grade of society in which he 
had lived, from the highest to the lowest. He was 
found one Sunday afternoon, in the Bridewell, or House 
of Correction, by a gentleman, who thought he could 
detect the glint of a diamond beneath all the filth and 
squalor. The gentleman actually spoke to him as though 
he had a soul beneath that miserable old coat — as if he 
thought all the man had not been stamped out of him. 
He drew T out a sketch of his history, and learned that 
he had no hope of being a better man, simply because 
he had got too low for either God or man to care for 
him. 

The practical Christian labored to convince the young 
man that he was cared for, and that if he made the 
necessary effort God would help him back to a sober 
life and keep him there. 



ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS. 75 

A new light began to dawn upon C.'s mind. Perhaps 
it w T as possible for him to get rid of this accursed appe- 
tite — this degrading life of debauchery ! If there was 
such a new, better life for him, he made up his mind 
that God helping him he would enter into it. He was 
taken into the Home, and very soon, in place of the 
ragged vagabond there appeared a Man. What a 
"transformation ! 

A few weeks afterwards, on the invitation being given 
for volunteer speakers in the "chape!" that young man 
arose, and in the eloquent tones true earnestness always 
gives, told the story of his life, and what a wonderful 
deliverance he had — ascribing the glory to God for his 
wonderful reformation. 

He has stood the test of six years, and to-day he 
occupies as fine a position as any young man could 
wish for, honored by all who know him, an active mem- 
ber of an 'evangelical church, and a respected member 
of society. 

Let these cases stand as representing the whole. It 
is a branch of the subject upon which I love to dwell ; 
but this chapter has already swelled to too great a 
length. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

Many hundreds, I hope, of my brethren in suffering, 
when they have read to this point will lay the book 
down and say, " Why, that is just my experience, in so 
far as the effects of drink are concerned ! I have felt 
everything here described. Not a pang of misery, but 
I have felt the like ; not one depth of degradation, but 
I have sounded ; not a sigh ascended from this bruised 
heart, but there is one to respond to it from my bosom/ ' 

Well, my dear friends, I do not claim that my expe- 
rience in suffering was more dreadful than that experi- 
enced by thousands of others, for it is all the same in 
quality. It makes my heart bleed sometimes to think 
of the thousands sitting in wretchedness and misery, 
who might be saved if some one could be found who 
cared enough for their souls to urge them for Christ's 
sake to fly for refuge to the only one who can save. 
Almost every time I address large audiences wives, and 
mothers, and sisters come to me with tears in their eyes, 
asking if something cannot be done for some erring, but 
still loved husband, son or brother. Ah, how little I 
can do after all to reach these poor sufferers. They are 
scattered far and wide. And yet I have thought a little 



CONCLUSION. 77 



volume like this might come to the wanderers as they 
sit in hopeless darkness, like a brotherly influence, to 
convince even them that there is a blessed hope of their 
restoration to society and the dear ones they have long 
since regarded as lost to them forever. 

Experience and observation teach me that inebriates 
suffer more from utter Hopelessness than any other 
cause. They think there is no use trying to be better 
men : decent society has thrown them overboard ; they 
have lost their business ; everything looks dreary. How 
can they make a fresh start ? I think I have answered 
that question in the preceding pages. ! my friend, 
make this effort in God's great name, and you will 
receive exactly the kind of help you want. 

Take a strong stand for temperance. Dare to be a 
radical. Remember that the pledge that helps a man 
to permanent reformation is not one of man's devising, 
but is signed where only God is present, away down in 
the depths of the soul. 

There is a false idea in existence that when a man is 
once down, he is down forever — that Society will frown 
him back to his darkness and his chains, no matter how 
great an effort he may make to recover himself. I want 
to disabuse the minds of my brethren on that point. If 
a man shows that he is in earnest, by taking off his coat 
and going to work as soon as he starts out in the new 
life ; if he accepts the situation, determined that he 
will die sober if he can do no better, and holds fast to 
his integrity, depend upon it that struggling one will 
not want for a hearty grasp of the hand, or a cheery, 
" God bless you," as he pursues his upward way. I 



78 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

have watched this feature of the temperance question 
very closely, and I can honestly declare that the only 
time within five years I ever heard a reformed inebriate 
sneered at, was by the anonymous letter-writer of an 
Eastern weekly newspaper. 

No ! no ! Society is only too glad to receive back, 
" Out of the Depths," the victims. It touches a chord 
in the great heart of Humanity too sacred and tender 
to admit of heaping reproach upon the head of the 
repentant one. 

To many who would, perhaps, wish to reform, the 
objection may come : "'I cannot avail myself of the aid 
of any public institution, what am I to do in that case?" 
I w r ould say to such, Leave all that to the kind Provi- 
dence which is enlisted in your behalf the moment you 
take the first decided step towards reform. No matter 
where you may be you will find friends to help you, and 
your efforts will be crowned with success. 

As I look abroad in the temperance field and see men 
and women laboring in various ways to advance the 
good work, I can wish them success when these efforts 
bear the stamp of genuineness ; but it is sometimes 
necessary to sift the tares from the wheat. All is not 
temperance that proclaims itself such. A great deal of 
mummery and nonsense needs to be cleared away from 
it, in my opinion. Many of the so-called "lecturers" 
are charlatans, pure and simple. Seeing that the subject 
has grown somewhat popular of late, they have floated 
t<* the surface, ard endeavor by loud-mouthed declama- 
tion to make themselves heard. — These worthies depend 



CONCLUSION. 79 



upon a sort of high-toned sentimentality and an aptness 
for calling very bad names, but it can seldom deceive. 
The ring of the true metal is absent. 

But there is no mistaking the true worker, whether 
in the prohibition field or the great moral movements 
which have been sweeping over the land for several years 
past. To all these .my heart goes out in earnest well- 
wishes. As for myself, I am impelled, by the same 
Almighty Power that saved me to take my place by the 
fallen and broken-hearted. Let us all do our duty to 
the very utmost, looking for the reward hereafter. 

It will doubtless be remarked by some that through- 
out this little volume I have not indulged in any very 
wild tirade against the liquor-sellers. Few, perhaps 
have more reason to do so : but, believing as I do, that 
such talk if indulged in promiscuously, does no good 
and wastes time, I have seldom done much in that 
direction. I would rather save one hard-working 
mechanic from a drunkard's grave than drive a hundred 
liquor-dealers wild with anger. Right well do I know 
that the low whisky-seller is after money, and cares 
not for body and soul if he can only secure that — that 
he will throw his victim out to die in the gutter, as 
soon as his last dollar has been spent ; and yet my 
strongest feeling is to urge the working, men of the 
land to give up drinking the accursed poison that is 
taking the clothes from the backs of their loved ones, 
and the manliness out of their own hearts. 

Oh ! my fellow-toilers, we have been keeping up the 
liquor-traffic. Let the hard-working men of the country 



*6b # OUTtttfMHKEKBPTHS. 



«tow : 'kSng^obM n -hGief&iheB&mhd idfepenet mpoikihmi- 
custom to obtain 4iie#&gy8liHi]^w^^ AmgidleAi% 

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the very brink ot a drunkard s~awiul hell to appeal to 
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si tedi .loaioq beswooz odl %nUnhh ou evhg oi biifif 
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S|F 

The Temperance Book for the^Times. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS; 

A 

PERSONAL NARRATIVE 

OF 

My Fall Under the Power of Strong Drink 



AND MY 



: COMPLETE REFORMATION. 



BY W. T. COX. 

1 Out of the Depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord." — Psa. cxxx. I. 

__ 

SYCAMORE, ILL. 
BAKER & ARNOLD. 

1876. 



Pointed, Truthful, Heart-stirring. 



PRICE— 25 Cents pee Copy— Agents Wanted. 



SaE 








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